


Stop (Don't)

by illicio



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illicio/pseuds/illicio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further exploration of an awkward relationship between Stein and Spirit as teenagers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop (Don't)

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing explicit in here, but I've marked it "underage" just in case.

 

 

 

 

        The atmosphere was like a river: it did a fair impersonation of a real river; anyone who saw it would say "My, what a pretty river! Is that someone taking a nap?" and come closer -- but natives knew not to swim in it -- because it was full of piranhas; and they knew not to go near the reeds unless they wanted to fall into convulsions, fall in the water, and become a compilation of neat, clean bones -- because they stung like jellyfish legs.

        There were Happenings.

        The struggle that started in the kitchen was still alive after physical contact broke and Spirit ran away to hide in his room, trying to live like a hermit and avoid all contact for a week; leaving for school so early Stein hadn't gone to bed yet and could hear the door shut in a manner Spirit probably intended to be inconspicuous. It was vacuum-sealed in memory, preserved and unspoiled, almost as fresh as the day it was created.

        Stein's shoulders hit the floor. They were accompanied by two palms pushing them and Spirit toppling over him, fighting for balance; his hand curled into a fist at the collar of Spirit's shirt like he was a dog on a leash, never allowing him to stray.

        When his knees split to straddle Stein's body, Spirit's teeth clicked audibly as he grit them. He spat "Ch'!" and then snapped, "Stop it! This is stupid -- I'm not fighting with you!" staring down with a frantic, wide-eyed intensity Stein had seen before, but couldn't place where...

        He pursed his mouth and twisted the fabric. Spirit scowled.

        "O~me~ga~," he teased, smugly enunciating each syllable, tone lit with some kind of fire if only fire had the same quality as ice. (But a burn and frostbite felt the same, didn't they?)

        "Shut up!" Spirit lifted a knee, dropping it onto Stein's abdomen with an unfair amount of weight. When Stein released his shirt, Spirit's posture shot upward like a bird freed from a cage, sitting as tall as he could. The further away from Stein, the better.

        Stein spread his palm over the top of the invasive knee, meeting his partner with an expression so empty you could hide the universe in it. He squeezed the skin and bone beneath his hand and Spirit's face became complicated: he turned his head and frowned at his foot, because it was safer than any other option. It was difficult to misinterpret something like a foot, especially when it was yours.

        Something happened.

        It smashed into Spirit's stomach when it became the ghost of a fist that never fully closed, rattlesnake fast and lacking force, because force wasn't what mattered: Spirit hadn't seen it coming till it was too late -- when it hit like a flash of white light he saw out of the corner of his eye, followed hand-in-hand by the sensation that lightning struck his stomach and cracked his soul like a windshield hit by a rock, splintered into spiderweb fragments of agony.

        He gasped, inhaling his saliva, coughing so hard till he dry-heaved. His knee slipped, slamming beside Stein's waist with the sound of bone against wood, once again straddling for balance. A hand left Stein's shoulders to cover his mouth, twisting his brows together and squeezing his eyes shut, body hunched over. The other became a fist, with which he punched the ground beside his partner's neck, putting all the energy he would have liked to use to smash his nose instead -- but no matter how much he wanted to, it didn't happen.

        Stein's own fist unraveled, fluttering delicately as a butterfly's wing against the unseen wound and he waited patiently for his Spirit's eyes to open before he lifted the hand that once occupied his knee, as if he was going to strike again.

        A wet palm crashed into Stein's, interrupting his movement, entwining their fingers so tightly together he threatened to drive the blood from them.

        Clear and consistent as water, fluid dripped from Spirit's mouth in a steady stream. While angry, the look in his blue eyes rippled with a glassy wetness. Stein, no stranger to fluid, seemed not to notice even when he felt it puddle and seep through his own shirt.

        Helpfully, he pointed out, "You're foaming."

        Irritation gurgled in Spirit's throat and forced itself out like a growl. "Stop toying with me!"

        Stein ignored him. He wiggled his fingertips against his abdomen instead, sneaking them beneath the his shirt to find the dent of his navel.

        Spirit felt his spine go numb.

        "What the hell is wrong with you?!" He shrieked, high-pitched, still dripping from the mouth, squeezing Stein's waist with his knees like that was going to make everything better instead of worse. "You hurt me!"

        Without interest, Stein answered, "I know." He was busy with other things, like dipping his fingertips in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, tracing lazy circles around the edge... "I wanted to see if you'd fall. I thought you would, but..."

        Spirit shuddered. He bowed his head and leaned down, using the arm beside Stein's neck for support while he mashed his mouth into his white shoulder, drying it on his shirt since it was the least Stein could do for him. The cracks he thought he felt in his soul were already filling up again, like someone had taken caulk to repair it as if it was bathroom tile.

        He shut his eyes and he noticed his eyelashes were wet.

        "It's hot," he mumbled.

        "It's you," said Stein with sudden interest, watching how Spirit's body bent. "I feel fine."

        Against his stomach, Spirit felt the fingertips deviate from harmless activity, slipping lower to go on an expedition, like they were naive and had absolutely no idea what on earth could be lurking behind a zipper and a button. It forced him to sit upright again, spine arching inward and twisting slightly to the left. He shook his head, as if to say 'No, no, no, no, no, no!' but said nothing. Stein's gaze slipped past his partner's knee, down his calf, and to a black-socked foot, where he'd come to the conclusion that curled toes gave an entirely different, conflicting story.

        How did that even work?

        Stein bent his legs at the knees, lifting them and pressing them into Spirit's back. "Let go of my hand."

        The response was cold: "Use your other one." And it was the worst thing he could have said.

        "I am," he replied, matter-of-fact, and the button that held a waistband together was no longer holding it together.

        Spirit's attention was harpooned and his eyes dropped, anchored to Stein's hand, mouth slack in shock. Seeing and feeling it seemed worse than just feeling it, but when he lifted his eyes to stare confusion at Stein's face instead, it was with effort. "Why... are you...?" If he'd been stronger or Stein's bones had been weaker, he might have broken his partner's fingers for how hard he squeezed them. "Stop," he demanded. "Stop this. This isn't-"

        Somewhere it had no place being, a thumb rubbed in a circular motion and Spirit's body jolted -- as if that time he really had been hit by lightning.

        He closed his eyes again and tried to will himself to die.

        It would be easier. It would be a lot easier than this.

        His grip on Stein's hand wavered, but never broke. Stein studied his partner's face, trying to figure out what the troubled arrangement meant, because he hadn't yet learned to interpret difficult things like _I don't like this...do I?_ or _There's no way I like this...right?_

        He decided, " _You_ stop," and maybe he hadn't meant it badly, but to Spirit the voice felt like sandpaper rubbing across an open wound. "You're putting too much thought into it."

        Stein had found, with stuff like this, you just didn't think at all.

        His fingers abandoned their exploration, slipping down sensitive territory over his partner's black pants (Spirit puffed a sound that sounded like _huuu..._ ), taking a break against the inner thigh.

        When the hand he'd tangled with Stein's moved against his will, Spirit opened one eye in time to see his partner's pale mouth close over two of his knuckles. His mouth strained into a thoughtful frown and froze there.

        He twisted his hand away from Stein's, unsettling the lips against his skin -- but the reason wasn't noble: his index and middle finger pushed into the mouth as if it was a perfect place for fingers to be, face feeling so hot he was certain a fever of one-hundred-four degrees would be the minimum.

        The reaction surprised Stein, but otherwise he didn't have a problem. He couldn't figure out what purpose it served, but Spirit had never been known for liking things with sensible purposes. He decided he'd try to split the fingers apart with his tongue, tasting salt and the faint trace of hand soap.

        Spirit ducked his head, staring at the center of Stein's chest. He hesitated, then said, "Oi..."

        Stein lifted his eyes, looking up with an expression that didn't even try to be innocent.

        "...stop me if I go too far."

        In reply, Stein bit down and pinched his partner's wrist.

        "Ow!" Spirit whined, pulling his hand from the white crocodile's mouth so he could pinch its cheek instead, wet with saliva.

        Stein winced his left eye shut till Spirit let go -- and when he did, a curious angle tilted his mouth like a cat's frown. When he caught his partner's skittish blue glance, he wondered, "...why?"

        Spirit stared down in disbelief, mouth tight and looking out of place. When he found the words, they were shy, "So I... don't hurt you? Or... make you uncomfortable..."

        Stein stared.

        The corner of Spirit's mouth twitched, his brows knitting together.

        It must have hit him after a moment. Stein's eyes widened and his own mouth parted into the shape of an "o", as in Oh, My God! You're Serious? You're Serious. You Just Said That After What I Did To You? You Just Said That After What I Did To You!

        "...Spirit," he began, and his words took some time to find, too, because he wasn't sure what to say. They were quiet and gentle, like a slow-killing poison. "You're an idiot. I mean, you're really an idiot."

        It hadn't been the reaction Spirit was expecting. "What?!"

        The corners of Stein's mouth pulled into a line that turned up at the ends, uncertain and unstable, breaking at the corners to reveal white teeth. It was a smile that linked to his eyes, but Spirit missed the connection: as quickly as it had come, it vanished like it had never belonged there.

        He applied pressure against his partner's thigh, Spirit inhaled sharply, and Stein confessed, "I wouldn't mind."

        Spirit became quiet.

        The room felt different the same way air pressure changes. Stein watched while the muscles behind his partner's skin -- everything that made his expressions -- altered and took a different shape with the mood. It was the same fickle quality he found in Spirit when all the cells in his body exploded with new life, swirling and shifting, coming back together sharply like shards of black steel -- when it stopped being just another soul to steal and became serious.

        A hand landed on one of Stein's legs, pushing it aside so he could make room for his body as he shifted backward, occupying the space he intended to make for himself between his partner's knees. When he lowered his body again, resting his elbows on both sides of his partner's chest, Stein let the back of his head rest upon the floor and stared at the ceiling, feeling his own heart palpitations.

        Spirit's mouth pressed against the side of his neck and he was aware the room felt hot. When he spoke, the sentence was a smattering of traveling words and kisses, sinking lower with each one. "You..." it began, as if having great trouble getting to the point, "look cute for once."

        " _Haaaa_..." Stein sounded sedated, almost peaceful. "I thought, how weird... this guy looks competent for once."

        The chain of kisses ended at his stomach and Spirit's palms smoothed down his sides, as if feeling for curves on a body so undeniably male there was no point in trying. His fingers caught the hem of the shirt and hooked it, pulling it up inch by inch, exposing new territory. He pressed his mouth on the bare skin and a hand found the back of his head. He winced like a dog waiting for a hit that never came.

        The fingers sank in, and Stein glanced down, thinking how it looked like they were buried in blood. "Senpai... if you want to stop..."

        Spirit looked up the length of Stein's torso, the lower half of his face still pressed into the skin.

        "Don't."

        Stein exhaled a sigh when he felt Spirit's tongue slip into his navel, his muscles tensed, and he closed his eyes.


End file.
